Darkness surrounded Izira, trapped in the confines of her body like a babe in a crib. She couldn't move, couldn't speak. Her eyes saw nothing. Her mind floated in and out of hazy awareness, oblivious to the passage of time. Sometimes she thought she heard a man speaking to her, his rough voice softened with concern. Other times her mind stirred, sensing things around her yet unable to respond to them in any way. The movement of a brush through her hair. The dampness of a cloth over her skin. The delicate pressure of a cat's feet as it moved around her form. The soft fur of a rabbit beneath her idle hand. Desperately, she wanted to react. But every time she pushed her mind to find some purchase of control over her body, it only served to quicken her collapse back into unconsciousness. Eventually, Izira learned to be the still and silent observer, drifting in and out as time ticked on.

Jeremiah counted the hours as they passed. Then the days, the weeks, the months. With Izira returned to the Forgotten Layers Inn, the realm around them started to stabilize, moving from winter to spring. But the growth could not last. As the lady remained unresponsive the seasons slip through a short spring and stalled into a long, dry summer. The pathways to and from the realm had become unstable or lost entirely. He could feel the gift within her, overpowering her. It blanketed her mind and kept the faint brush of her thoughts too far for him to read. Without the bond that kept that gift from consuming her, all his efforts would amount to nothing.

The guardians of the realm could no longer hope for survival, for the chance at freedom that survival would provide, without further action.

"Izira..."

He stood at the side of her bed. Concern filled his bright green eyes and etched a frown upon his beard covered face. The redwood of a man lowered himself onto the footstool there and, after a moment, he reached out to cover Izira's hand with his own. Large, tanned and rough, his hand contrasted sharply against the woman's delicate, pale and frail one. Gently, he stroked her hand with his thumb. Too long they had kept her in the dark, trying to pull strings as a means to an end. This is where all those efforts led them. He willed one final time for Izira to awaken, unsure if she would approve of the measure he planned to take if she did not. He hated making this choice without her, but time would not allow the option of waiting any longer. Without action, they would all die—the realm, the guardians, and Izira—this, at least, gave them a chance.

A light squeeze pressed her hand before he released it. He turned and lit the candle on her nightstand. With care, he placed his hand over her heart and bowed his head. No more time remained to wonder what if. Quietly, he began to speak the words of her father's people...

Light whispered through gaps between thick curtains and the window. A dim glow filled the quiet room, accompanied by the chirping songs of birds. They slipped through into the darkness of Izira's resting mind and pulled her into wakefulness. True wakefulness. Eyelids slowly opened and amber-brown eyes blinked to pull the room around her into view. Out of habit, she sat up in her bed and caused a wave of dizziness hit her. Dipping her head into the palm of her hand, Izira closed her eyes until the feeling passed. When the world about her stilled once more she braved another look at her surroundings.

The large bed on which she sat could fit four or five people, though it rarely saw more than her within it during her time at the Forgotten Layers Inn. Beside it a simple nightstand of dark wood held a light. In times before that light and the others about her private rooms had reacted to her will and provided her with the amount of light she desired. Now, they remained darkened and indifferent to her needs. The soft glow from the weak morning rays of sun barely touched the armoire that held her clothes. At the opposite side of the room, a silk robe the color of white pearl hung from a hook on the open bathroom door. Tiredly, Izira registered the dryness of her mouth and throat and moved to leave her bed.

In that moment, two things worked against her—a recently placed squat footstool beside her bed and the state of weakness that claimed her body. Even before she snagged her ankle against the stool, her legs were buckling beneath her. Ungracefully, she tumbled hard to the footstool and tiled floor. Her body sung at the pain of it. Tears stung at her eyes as she teetered toward a panic of fear and helplessness. Izira closed her eyes again, feeling the release of a few tears before she slowly exhaled.

I have lived through too much to break now.

The thought occurred to her quickly. Izira didn't know what had brought her back to the Forgotten Layers Inn or how it was that she remained alive, but she decided not to question it as her determination took over. With care, she moved her leg away from the footstool and then made use of the bed's frame to cautiously rise. Once standing, she gave herself time to reacquaint herself with the act of standing on two feet before attentively starting the slow journey toward her private bath.

First she'd get a drink of water. Then, perhaps, a long hot soak to clear the lingering fuzziness of her mind. At the very least, it would help ease the aches of her body.

The first week after Izira awoke, she spent her time going through the Inn. Silas, the cat, and Hope and Light, the ravens, were gone. Only Pascal, the black rabbit with a reddish-orange, flame-like smudge on his brow, remained to keep Izira company. She busied herself with caring for the inn, the rabbit and herself. As time moved on and more of her strength returned, Izira went beyond the gardens of the Inn and walked the pathways of the realm. Quickly she discovered that she could walk any path however far and never find passage beyond. Dark was the day that she realized Rhydin and her friends there were lost to her. She had spent the afternoon crying into Pascal's soft fur. When morning came, she rose and continued to do what she could with what remained to her. Care for the rabbit. Care for herself. Play the piano. Keep the inn ready, even if it seemed like no one would ever come. She continued in her solitude with a lingering hope something would change. That small blush of hope kept her going as time trickled by. Days, weeks, months, a year, and more...